


Three Years

by Felixbug



Series: Breaking the Silence [1]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: M/M, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-19
Updated: 2015-05-20
Packaged: 2018-03-31 05:40:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3966484
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Felixbug/pseuds/Felixbug
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Hawke closed his eyes with a low groan, concentrating on the smooth glide of his hand around his cock, the pooling heat low in his belly and his own rough breaths. Thank the Maker for thick walls – he couldn’t keep silent, picturing Anders straddling his hips, head thrown back and back arched as Hawke gripped his hip and guided him down onto his cock.</i>
</p><p><i>“Fuck,” he groaned, thrusting up into his fist. “Fuck, Anders,</i> fuck.”</p><p>Hawke and Anders over the three years before the start of their relationship. Angsty pining and smut. Mostly smut.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Year One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [daggerpen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/daggerpen/gifts).



> Obligatory "aching for you" fic, the trope to which all handers writers must eventually succumb ;) Thank you anon for giving me an excuse! A lot of people have been asking me for an epilogue to this but honestly it feels complete to me, the good news is this is part of the same continuity as my ongoing series Breaking the Silence, and I've now added it to the beginning of the series so you can click through all the fics if you want more :D
> 
> Warnings - Not much! Brief Karl/Anders mention in Year One and Year Three, if that bothers anyone, but it's nothing explicit. Year Three also references Karl's death.
> 
> Original prompt: For the smut requests - M!Handers, Anders and Hawke spent a long three years 'aching' for each other every night. It'd be nice to see some, um... examples from both sides. (Bonus points if Justice has something to say during Anders'.)
> 
> Seeing as this is now the official beginning of my Breaking the Silence series (which originally opened with the fic of the same title), it seems like a good place to leave this - [Graphic by shamelessly-mkp](http://felixbug.tumblr.com/post/117804986724/shamelesslymkp-it-is-c-o-m-p-l-i-c-a-t-e-d)  
> There is also a [Fanmix by hallayeah](http://felixbug.tumblr.com/post/120957428969/hallayeah-three-years-a-mix-for-felixbugs)
> 
> (Please note Anders' slightly hostile thoughts towards Justice in this fic definitely do NOT reflect my opinions, and it pains me to write those two not getting along D: I'm definitely on the Justice defense squad!)

Hawke listened closely – and heard nothing.

Not truly nothing of course, the road to Sundermount had its fair share of rustling animals in the undergrowth, the faint hoot of owls overhead, and the wind rustling the trees. But the faint conversation from the tent Varric shared with Anders had drifted gradually into silence, and Hawke knew Aveline well enough to know she would have been deeply asleep the moment she crawled into her own tent. The thin canvas didn’t allow for much real privacy, but the illusion of it was enough – and it was better than at home with shared rooms and barely space to breathe. Hawke turned onto his back and pushed his underclothes down around his thighs.

He’d been half-hard on and off throughout the day – ashamed of how easily the blond mage had got to him, but _Maker_ it had been a while and Anders was impossibly charming. Hawke knew it wasn’t going anywhere – Anders had made that clear enough, and it made sense that being possessed would make relationships tricky to say the least – but that didn’t mean he couldn’t enjoy the attention. Anders was often subdued – Hawke knew he would still be mourning Karl’s death, and couldn’t blame him – but when Hawke managed to distract him with a terrible joke or an even worse attempt at flirting his surprised, hopeful smile lit up his whole face.

Hawke was thinking about his smile. Blunt nails skimming down over his belly, hand inches from his hardening cock, and he was thinking about Anders’ _smile_ of all things – the man was going to be trouble and Hawke knew it. He bit his lip and wrapped his hand around his erection – no drawing this out, he needed to get this _very_ bad absolutely _never_ going to happen idea out of his head – before the situation got any worse.

Hawke choked back a groan as he began to stroke himself, slow and steady at first but rapidly slipping into a sharp, quick rhythm as he closed his eyes and let his mind wander. He tried to imagine Anders’ body under that bulky coat – he was slender, definitely, but the way he swung his staff told Hawke there’d be muscle too – wiry arms and fine definition in his chest, and perhaps a dusting of dark gold hair on pale, freckled skin. Hawke’s hips jerked and he bit down harder on his lip, stifling his voice and letting out only a sharp breath as he imagined Anders’ hands trailing over his taut belly to toy with the lacing of his trousers.

Hawke thrust up into his grip, calloused fingers rough against sensitive flesh – he was wound tight and already on the edge of breaking, a wave of urgent heat building under the friction of his hand. He wanted it to last and he needed it to be done – needed to empty his mind of the image of Anders hooking his thumbs in his waistband, dragging it lower and smirking at Hawke, fingers splayed over the outline of his cock. Hawke imagined how it would feel to tease him – make Anders shake with need the way he shook now – to trail his lips across the tented fabric, to kiss and suck and bite his way up Anders’ chest, tug a nipple between his teeth and make him arch and pant and whimper. A sharp nip at his neck and Hawke imagined Anders thrusting up against him, chasing friction and grinding himself against Hawke’s cock through the thin fabric that separated them as his hands clawed at Hawke’s shoulders.

“Fuck me,” Anders whispered in his mind. “Fuck me, Hawke.”

Hawke rolled over, face pressed against the folded blanket that served as a pillow, muffling his groans as his cock throbbed in his grip. His eyes screwed shut, his shoulders shook, and his hips jerked as he spilled across his palm. Hawke gasped sharply as a final wave of pleasure hit, so intense it hurt, nerves on fire under his fingers and skin prickling with every pulse. Every breath trembled and caught, he panted open-mouthed against the blanket and slumped breathlessly, bonelessly, heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Hawke laughed quietly to himself as he rolled over and tugged back a corner of the groundsheet to wipe his hand clean on the grass beneath. Couldn’t even last long enough to get Anders naked in a _fantasy_ , probably a good thing he wasn’t going to be falling into bed with him any time soon. It was fun to have an infatuation again – a pleasant distraction from the chaos his life had spiralled into since the Blight. He’d get it out of his system soon enough, he was sure of that. He and Anders both had bigger problems and honestly, he doubted Anders would want to stay in Kirkwall much longer. Fighting for mage freedom sounded noble enough, but Kirkwall had to be the worst place to start, and without Karl there didn’t seem to be much tying him down.

Hawke drifted off to sleep, listening to the sounds of the dying fire and the whisper of the wind. If his thoughts turned to Anders in his last moments of consciousness, he did not question it, and chose not to remember. Hawke had learned to let go painlessly of what he knew he could not have.

***

 Nights were the worst.

The constant push and pull in Anders’ mind ebbed and flowed throughout the day, thoughts that drifted into his conscious mind that were not quite his own, or half formed ideas snatched away and obliterated if he tried to wander from his path. It had been like sea-sickness at first, the storm in his mind pitching him from side to side until his knees gave out, a wave of nausea overtaking him and his head pounding. Justice had howled and scrabbled at the confines of his mind and Anders had felt the crushing horror of the darkness and silence and knew – knew all too well what he had condemned him to – hated himself for it and Justice for feeling it and making him remember. The worst had passed, but the nights were when they both suffered most.

Justice resented sleep, Anders had worked that much out. He thought perhaps Justice didn’t sleep – and the thought of Justice in full control of his body while he slept filled him with horror. He felt a sharp bristle of irritation and after a few seconds recognised it as Justice’s resentment at the thought – after all the chaos he’d caused, he still expected Anders to trust him. Anders caught himself on the verge of spiteful thoughts – that wouldn’t help either of them. Whatever had become of his friend – the only friend he’d had left – it was his own fault. He could live with the consequences, and the guilt.

Anders tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. It seemed every time he was on the edge of sleep a sharp twist of anxiety around his heart would leave him wide awake. He’d been awake for a two days and the night between, he couldn’t lose another night’s sleep – he felt as if he was losing his mind. Anders rolled onto his back and put his hands over his face with a groan. _Let me sleep. Just let me sleep._

There was no reply. There never was. Anders dropped his arms to his sides and looked up blankly into the darkness.

“I’m…” He cleared his throat awkwardly. Speaking aloud to Justice always felt uncomfortable, but it seemed to work, more or less. They could feel each other’s thoughts but couldn’t speak inside his – their – head, but he assumed Justice could use his ears. “I need to get to sleep. I’m going to try – fuck, Maker, you’re in my head, you know what I’m going to try. I don’t know if you can – privacy’s probably a bit much to ask, isn’t it? But if you could _pretend_ not to be watching I’d appreciate it.”

Of all the things Justice complained about, at least he’d always been fairly understanding of this – as far as incoherent, angry, potentially demonic presences inside your own head could ever feel understanding. Anders could get away with very little in the way of selfish desires, but after the first two weeks of fighting to even be allowed to eat or drink, Anders had finally managed to convince Justice that the requirements of his body were his business, not distractions from the cause and no reason for Justice to interfere. He felt the mental equivalent of a shrug, and a slight tugging as Justice retreated into his subconscious mind. At least he thought that was what was happening. It was hard to be sure, and even harder to put into words.

Anders closed his eyes – for all the difference it made – and trailed his hand down over his chest. Justice would object if this became self-indulgent, but he could afford to take a few minutes to remember this was still his body – he still had desires, he still had a life beyond the clinic and the oppressive shadow of the Circle. His fingertips brushed over a nipple, and he let a faint hum of magic build around it, a warm buzz flickering through his skin and making him arch his back. He let his hand move lower, flat over his belly and then gripping briefly at his hip before resting on his thigh. He missed this, the touch of another mage on his body, experimental magic in unskilled hands, on his knees on a hard stone floor pushing robes up Karl’s thighs and…

Anders let the magic fade from his hand abruptly. No magic, then – those memories led nowhere he wanted to revisit, especially now. He gripped his thigh harder, trying to imagine someone – anyone else, an anonymous body, dark hair on his chest, big, warrior’s hands, so different from a mage. Anders slid his other hand onto his chest to circle a nipple, then slid it up to tangle in his hair and tug his head back and _yes_ that’s how he wanted it – someone to fuck him senseless and make him forget.

His cock stirred and Anders wrapped his fingers around it, stroking himself to hardness as his breath quickened. He imagined the man – wouldn’t focus on the face, refused to think about it – but he’d be bearded, a little shorter than Anders maybe but stocky, with thick arms and sculpted shoulders that flexed as his hand worked Anders’ cock and he pulled his hair harder, then leaned down to suck at his neck.

“You like that?” A rough whisper in his mind, a voice that was familiar but he couldn’t quite place – didn’t _want_ to place – as Anders tightened his grip on his cock and imagined the man chuckling in his ear. “You want more, don’t you?”

Anders toes curled and he thrust up against his hand, trying to forget it was his own, lips parted as he panted harshly. He was near silent, but alone in the dark his breath seemed to echo, every harsh gasp rasping against his ears and he could imagine the warrior’s breath catching along with it.

“I could turn you over,” he imagined him saying. “Bend you over the edge of the bed and make you beg to take my cock. Is that what you want?”

Anders’ breath shook and he quickened his strokes, spreading his legs and imagining them being nudged apart by the man’s knees. His cock was slick, moisture beading at the tip and coating his fingers, and he was racing closer to the edge with every jerk of his wrist and every imagined breath against his neck.

“Or perhaps not,” he imagined, another soft laugh and he _knew_ that voice, _oh Maker_ this was a mistake to even let himself want – but he was so close now and it was only a thought, a thought couldn’t hurt Hawke, couldn’t hurt either of them. “Maybe I want your mouth – would you like that? Taste my cock, feel it filling your throat, let me come over your tongue and make you swallow every drop…”

Anders let out the tiniest muffled whimper – in the Circle you might as well scream if you let a sound escape at all, and he knew better, but his imagination was so vivid and the voice was so _Hawke_ and he hadn’t realised until now quite how much he wanted him.

“Come for me,” he heard, conjuring up the voice in the dark, imagining Hawke pulling back to look down at his face with dark hair falling in his eyes and his mouth twisted into that beautiful, teasing smirk. “Come for me, Anders, _now._ ”

He did – heels digging through the thin mattress into the slats beneath, arching and thrusting and throwing his head back as he felt the first warm splash across his belly. Anders twisted his head to the side, gasping against the pillow, thrusting into his hand trying to draw out the overwhelming pleasure for just a moment more. The image was already slipping and he couldn’t quite let go, not yet – couldn’t let the sweet ache of arousal fade to the deeper pain of loneliness. He continued to stroke himself, oversensitive on the edge of pain but he could imagine Hawke drawing this out, wringing every last aftershock from him, pressing light kisses down his neck before nipping his shoulder with a last warm chuckle.

Anders didn’t remember falling asleep – exhaustion claiming him before he knew it. He awoke to find himself clean, a crumpled rag discarded beside the bed, and a scrawled note in handwriting that was not his own – jagged and messy, sharp pen-strokes that had torn the parchment in places.

“HE IS A DISTRACTION,” it said. “I AM SORRY.”


	2. Year Two

“I’m sorry, the place is a little…” Hawke stepped over a sheet-covered pile of rubble. “It needed some work. Slavers aren’t great housekeepers – who’d have thought?”

“It’s fine,” Anders said, and Hawke cringed – insensitive, tactless, the usual. He lived in a mansion – for all its disrepair, it was likely more luxury than Anders had ever seen.

“Upstairs, then?” said Hawke quickly. “The bedrooms are all finished already – mother said to put you in the guest room next to mine, there’s a fire lit and – I’ll – here.” He reached out and took Anders’ pack, mock-stumbling under the weight. “Maker, what’s in here?”

“Everything,” he said quietly.

Hawke nodded, silently cursing himself for yet another stupid comment. Templars were swarming all over Darktown, if Anders hadn’t been tipped off then he’d have likely been caught in the raid. Who knew what state his clinic would be in when he returned, if he ever safely could? Anders’ bag was packed by a man who knew how to run away, how to fit his whole life on his back at a moment’s notice if he had to.

“You’re shaking,” Hawke said, reaching out to catch Anders’ arm. “Come on, you need some sleep.”

He led him upstairs – he wondered if he should let go of his arm but Anders didn’t seem to mind the contact, and Maker help him, Hawke needed the reassurance himself. The thought of losing Anders – especially so soon after Bethany – had set up a tight, hot ball of pain in his chest. Hawke briefly entertained the thought of shutting Anders in the guest room, grabbing his sword and heading down into the tunnel to Darktown. He doubted it’d end well but the thought of spilling Templar blood and bringing back their heads – that appealed too much to dismiss quickly.

“I’m sorry,” Anders said as they reached the doorway to the bedroom. “I know this is – look, I won’t intrude long, I’ll be gone first thing, if Darktown isn’t safe I can find somewhere else…”

“You’re welcome here as long as you need,” said Hawke, dropping his hand from Anders’ arm. He’d been gripping a little tightly, he realised. “I’m sorry – it’s not you I’m angry with.”

“I know.” Anders managed a shaky smile. “You don’t have to explain about hating the Templars to me, Hawke. Justice wanted to stay and massacre them, you know?” He squinted at Hawke. “You’re thinking the same thing.”

“That spirit of yours teach you to read minds?”

“No, but my patients have taught me a thing or two about reading faces.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” Hawke said as he pushed open the bedroom door and encouraged Anders inside. “You don’t have to tell me it’s not worth the risk. Just – let me have the fantasy?”

“By all means.”

Anders caught his eye and seemed to notice the unintended double-meaning at the same moment Hawke did, flushing slightly and quickly turning to look around the room.

“Thank you.” Anders brief good humour seemed to have evaporated, he looked very thin and pale, shrunk in on himself and ready to drop as he sat down shakily on the edge of the bed. Hawke nodded and turned to go. “Wait?”

Hawke turned back. Anders was fumbling with the buckles of his coat, and looked up at Hawke with an embarrassed smile.

“My hands are shaking,” he said. “I escape the Templars and end up defeated by a _coat._ ”

“It’s a very intimidating coat,” Hawke said, throat suddenly dry. “Do you want me to..?”

“If you don’t mind.” Anders stood, and Hawke closed the distance between them.

Anders’ hair was damp – he hadn’t noticed before, too focused on ushering him inside, heart pounding as Anders told him what had happened. He’d walked here in the rain, and his skin shone slightly with it, fine droplets caught in his stubble. There was a constant faint smell of elfroot about him, and Hawke was close enough to see the worn patches on his coat, the dark circles under his eyes, and a quick glimpse of his tongue as he nervously licked his lips. Hawke swallowed hard, and turned his attention to the belts and buckles holding his coat in place – the fiddly clasp on the chain across his chest first, then drifting lower. The heat of Anders’ body radiated against his hands and Hawke could imagine how it would feel to slip his hands inside the coat as it fell open, run his fingers over Anders’ lean body through his tunic, hike it up around his hips to grab his ass and pull him in close. He stepped back abruptly, shoving his treacherous hands into his pockets.

“That alright?” he said – he sounded _breathless,_ could feel heat in his cheeks, and what would Anders think of him if he knew? “Shouldn’t be too much more of a challenge for an experienced escape artist.”

Anders’ nodded, and Hawke heard a slight catch in his breath as he shrugged out of the coat and let it crumple to the floor. His ragged grey tunic was even more threadbare than the coat, and where it hung close to his body Hawke thought he could see the faintest outlines of ribs beneath it. _I should offer to buy him new clothes,_ Hawke thought, firmly ignoring the other suggestions his brain seemed to be producing in an endless stream.

“I’ll – leave you to get some rest,” Hawke said. Anders swayed forward a little – one foot scuffing on the carpet as he considered taking a step – then nodded and sank back onto the bed.

Hawke latched the door to his room the moment he got inside, grateful for the thick stone walls and the heavy oak door that granted him privacy to groan in frustration as he paced. What was _wrong_ with him? Anders was running for his life and all he could think about was finding out just how he looked under all those layers. It wasn’t that simple and he knew it – it wasn’t just about sex anymore, perhaps never had been – he wanted Anders safe and here, curled up against him in the same bed without ever having to think of leaving again. They’d known each other a year and a half and nothing he’d done to get Anders out of his mind had worked – things were only getting worse. It’d be easier if he thought Anders wasn’t interested, but it was increasingly clear that he _was,_ dropping everything if Hawke asked, slipping into flirtatious comments accidentally before catching himself and shutting down conversation entirely.

No, it wasn’t just about sex – couldn’t really be called an infatuation at this point either. It was…

“A bad idea,” Hawke muttered to himself, cutting off the train of thought.

He stripped off his clothing and crawled into bed, too distracted to really appreciate the fine, soft bedding or the thick pillows. All of this luxury mattered to Leandra – would have mattered to Bethany if she had been around to enjoy it instead of hauled away to the Circle – and Hawke couldn’t deny he appreciated the comfort most nights. Right now he wasn’t going to be _comfortable_ anywhere, not unless Anders decided to join him.

Still, the privacy had advantages.

Hawke curled his hand around his length, already almost fully hard. Was that all it took now? Anders shrugging out of his coat, revealing, what – a little more of his arms than Hawke was used to seeing? Hawke imagined how it would have been if Anders had asked for more – here not for a safe place to stay but for Hawke, pulling him back towards the bed and kissing him eagerly, hungrily, moaning against his lips as Hawke tore the threadbare tunic open to the waist and let his palms wander over smooth, warm skin.

He shoved the covers off himself, splayed out across the bed lying back against the mound of pillows. Hawke closed his eyes with a low groan, concentrating on the smooth glide of his hand around his cock, the pooling heat low in his belly and his own rough breaths. Thank the Maker for thick walls – he couldn’t keep silent, picturing Anders straddling his hips, head thrown back and back arched as Hawke gripped his hip and guided him down onto his cock.

“Fuck,” he groaned, thrusting up into his fist. “Fuck, Anders, _fuck_.”

He tried to imagine what it’d be like to have Anders riding him like that – slim thighs trembling as he rose and fell, hands clutching at Hawke’s chest or gripping the pillow either side of his head as Anders leaned forward to rock his hips harder, faster, blond hair hanging around his face as he bit his lip and Hawke thrust up into him. What would he sound like? Hawke tried to imagine Anders’ voice moaning his name or dropping into sharp, rough groans – or perhaps he’d scream. Beautifully submissive, jolted by Hawke’s thrusts as he sat up and held Anders steady, a hand on his shoulder to pull him down onto his cock and dig his nails into his skin.

Hawke rolled onto all fours, still pumping his cock hard, his hips twitching at the thought of Anders’ body beneath him, whimpering as Hawke pounded into him. Those gentle healer’s hands turning demanding, grasping at his ass to pull him deeper with every thrust. Hawke’s free hand balled into a fist in the sheets, his breathing turning ragged as his groans became harsh grunts. He was close – agonizingly close – holding back to make every second last. If this was all he could get, these moments with the far less complicated Anders in his mind, then he would make it count. Hawke rocked back on his knees and shifted forward to brace his hand against the wall, resting his forehead against the paint and screwing his eyes shut even tighter.

In his mind his fingers were interlaced with Anders’, holding him up against the wall on his knees as Hawke’s thrusts dragged them both towards climax. Anders would flush – with pale skin like that he’d be beautifully red, lips parted and eyes half-closed as he arched back against Hawke’s chest. Hawke bit his lip and imagined Anders twisting around to kiss him hard, teeth and tongue and little breathy moans against his lips, an urgent cry and Anders would shudder against him. Hawke squeezed his hand in time with his thrusts and the imagined clench of Anders’ ass, hot and tight and slick around him. But as Hawke raced towards the edge the mental images eluded him, dissipated like smoke, and all he could think of was Anders’ smiles he shot at Hawke when he thought he wasn’t looking, the rough edge to his voice when he spoke of the cause of mages, the little catch in his breath whenever he and Hawke touched.

“Oh fuck – Maker, _Anders_.”

Hawke’s voice cracked as he groaned, loud and desperate and shaken. His knees almost gave out as he slumped against the headboard, face pressed against the wall as he gasped and his cock twitched in his palm. It was too much and not enough all at once, white-hot pleasure tearing through his nerves, biting his lip until he tasted blood at the intense flood of sensation – but the distance between him and Anders more unbearable than ever.

***

Justice surged close to the surface, a Fade-tinged whisper against the inside of Anders’ skin as Hawke stepped closer. Anders tried to interpret the sensations and the chaotic thoughts, and as Hawke’s hands settled against his chest he understood – it was a restraining hand, a murmured reminder that this was _not for him_.  Hawke’s fingertips grazed his collarbone as he unclasped the chain, and without Justice holding his tongue Anders thought he might have whimpered. How long had it been since he had been touched at all?

Hawke’s hands drifted down, unfastening clasps one by one. Hawke was undressing him – and Anders felt the sharp recoil in his thoughts and knew he shouldn’t be thinking that way – what would Hawke think if he knew? Anders had taken advantage of his hospitality enough. The final buckle came loose and Hawke stepped back sharply as if burned, stuffing his hands into his pockets. Of course he’d pull back – for all his interest, Hawke must still remember what Anders was.

“That alright? Shouldn’t be too much more of a challenge for an experienced escape artist.”

He nodded, and let his coat slip from his shoulders. The way Hawke’s eyes raked over his body made him bite back a gasp – he wasn’t imagining that, he was sure – Hawke was still eager, still ignoring every warning.

“I’ll – leave you to get some rest,” Hawke said. Anders almost stepped forward but Justice, or his own common sense, held him steady. If he’d been just a little less lucky he could have died that night, it was too easy to think of this as a second chance, let his relief carry him forward without thought of consequences. The reality was this was just one more day, and when the sun rose tomorrow he would still be everything he was tonight: a possessed apostate in a city crawling with Templars. A danger.

Hawke closed the door behind him, and Anders fell back onto the bed. He kicked off his boots and managed to tug his tunic off over his head, but that was the limit of his strength. He’d been sleeping better recently – Justice had stopped fighting him every night, which probably helped – but he was still stretched too thin between the clinic and the mage underground. Tonight’s panicked rush through the dark, rainy streets to Hawke’s door had reminded him what it was like to have to flee, and he was exhausted by the thought that he would always have to be ready to run again.

Anders was almost asleep when he jerked awake suddenly, certain he’d heard a voice say his name. He lay still, ears straining to see if he could hear it again, but heard nothing but the crackling of the fire and his own breath. Moments passed, and Anders could feel Justice stirring faintly in his mind – concern, perhaps? He felt a rush of something like a protective growl, without sound or touch he could somehow sense Justice surrounding his heart, radiating distrust.

Anders sat up and lowered his feet to the ground. He’d imagined the sound, he was sure of it – but what if he was wrong? What if Hawke was calling for him? _And what if he is?_ He thought. Nothing had changed. Nothing _could_ change. But he couldn’t shake the ghost of Hawke’s touch, a brush of fingers that burned like a brand. He pushed through Justice’s resistance and headed for the door.

_I’m not thinking straight._ Anders froze with his hand on the door handle. He knew the thought hadn’t originated with him, but it had taken root in his mind and he couldn’t help but listen. _I can’t make this decision now._

Justice eased back – Anders could feel strength drain from his limbs and he sagged against the door as his mind quieted. The message was clear – Justice would not stop him, but he did not approve. And the worst part was Anders knew he was right. He was shaken, barely able to stand unassisted – he couldn’t make a choice like this with his mind full of fog.

He wasn’t sure he could sleep either, not now. Anders trailed his fingertips along the wall as he paced slowly. He paused at the point where he imagined Hawke now slept – windswept dark hair hanging in his eyes, body sprawled across expensive sheets. Anders pressed his hand against the wall, biting down hard on his lip. Hawke finally had everything he wanted – he didn’t need to be dragged into Anders’ life.

_“Anders.”_

Anders flinched, almost stumbled – he thought he’d dozed off for a moment, asleep on his feet propped against the wall. The voice had come from his mind he was sure of it – perhaps a half-formed dream, or Justice trying to wake him before he fell. But it had sounded like Hawke, and once he realised that he couldn’t shake the thought. Hawke, just inches away through the wall, calling – no, moaning – his name.

He was disgusted with his own imagination – or perhaps that was Justice – but not enough to stop as he fumbled to unlace his trousers. The sound of Hawke’s voice still echoed in his ears and he couldn’t escape it, didn’t _want_ to. He was panting harshly by the time he’d freed his cock, but he hesitated, waiting for Justice’s discomfort to subside. It was always hard to draw the line – Justice disapproved of thoughts of Hawke and Anders was more than willing to fight him for the right to indulge within his own mind, but he would not do anything that harmed his former friend, however much things had changed between them. If Justice was unhappy with this – Anders felt a loosening of the tension in his mind, and a faint hum of reassurance before Justice subsided.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “I’m sorry – Justice, fuck, I’m sorry – I _need_ this.”

Anders slid to his knees, imagining Hawke’s hand on his shoulder, forcing him down. One heavy, booted foot on his thigh, pinning him in place, a hand on his jaw, jerking his head up to look Hawke in the eye.

“Anders,” he imagined the voice – ragged with arousal, Hawke’s grip bruising his skin. “ _Anders_.”

Anders bit his lip, his hand a blur around his cock as he imagined Hawke’s grip shifting to the back of his head, his cock in his hand and staring down at Anders intently. He wanted this – no more thinking, no fear, nothing existed at all outside of Hawke’s hand on him and his thick cock being thrust between Anders’ lips. He didn’t want to ache like this anymore – he wanted to be held down and fucked until his mind emptied of all doubt. He tried to imagine how Hawke would taste – salt and skin on his tongue – and the way his voice would crack as Anders swept his tongue over the head of his cock.

“ _Anders._ ”

He’d wanted to hear his name on Hawke’s lips just like that for so long – raw with need as Anders took him deeper into his throat. Anders dropped his hand from the wall and sucked one finger, then slipped his hand down inside his trousers to tease his entrance. How would it feel to have Hawke touch him like that – withdrawing his cock from Anders’ mouth to join him on the floor and grope between his legs? Anders swept his thumb over the head of his cock and imagined Hawke’s face, leaning in to kiss Anders hard, forcing his tongue into his mouth, teeth scraping his tongue and biting hard on his lower lip.

“Anders,” a growl against his lips as Hawke thrust a finger into him.

Anders’ breath quickened and his heart raced, his cock was throbbing in his hand as he slowly worked his finger inside himself – he considered moving to find something in his pack he could use to slick his fingers properly, fuck himself hard with the memory of Hawke’s voice ringing in his ears, but he was too impatient. This would have to be enough, the slight stretch around his finger and the firm pressure against that sensitive spot inside him, his hand tightening around his cock as he closed his eyes and imagined Hawke pulling him onto his lap and down onto his cock with a groan.

Just the thought of it was enough – impaled on Hawke’s cock, held tight in his arms being driven down onto it again and again, hard and fast with Hawke’s encouraging groans of his name against his ear – Anders came with a ragged gasp, pulsing waves of heat racing across his skin. Every muscle in his body tensed and shook, his back arched and he gritted his teeth against the urge to moan Hawke’s name. It wasn’t enough anymore – he needed it to be real, to come with Hawke’s cock sliding into him, Hawke’s teeth in his shoulder and hands gripping his sides to control every hard thrust.

Anders thought it was probably Justice that got them both off the floor, strength in his legs that didn’t come from him, a whispered apology in his thoughts. Neither of them had wanted Anders to sacrifice so much – Anders had assumed sex might be something he’d have to live without, but hadn’t expected to meet a man like Hawke – hadn’t expected to ever want anyone like this. As for Justice, Anders doubted he’d thought about this at all.

“It’s not your fault,” he murmured as he finished undressing and slid between the sheets. “I don’t – I don’t regret it.”

He did sometimes, and he knew Justice knew it, knew even as he said it that a comforting lie was probably no comfort to a spirit at all. But Justice could feel the intent behind the words and a warm haze of gratitude filled his thoughts. As Anders drifted off to sleep he wasn’t sure if it was his own imagination or Justice who created the image in his mind of Hawke’s broad chest against his back, an arm wrapped tightly around his waist, and a warm kiss against the back of his neck.

_“Anders,_ ” he murmured, and Anders slept deeply at last.


	3. Year Three

Clearing the streets of gangs was routine by now, and the Invisible Sisters were no more of a challenge than most. The challenge, Hawke thought, was keeping his eyes off Anders long enough to stay alive.

Anders moved almost too quickly to follow, graceful twirls of his staff trailing crackling bursts of lightning in their wake, then striking the ground and sending his enemies stumbling back. His body and staff moved as one, twisting and spiralling, the raw power of the Fade coursing through him and just occasionally – just for a moment – a flash of brilliant blue lighting his eyes.

Hawke tore his gaze away to block an attack from the last of the Sisters, cutting her down in an arc of gushing blood – and the square fell silent. Hawke turned back to Anders and caught his eye, grinning as he spotted Anders’ gaze flicker up and down his body. Still in with a chance, then – despite Justice’s presence and all Anders’ warnings, neither of them could deny the heat between them.

Hawke’s heart was pounding from the fight, and his mind was still flooded with the image of Anders’ elegant movements – imagining his agility put to different use, the way he would twist and writhe and bend under Hawke’s body. Hawke wiped the splattered blood from his lips with the back of his hand, trying to calm his racing pulse and quickened breath, but Anders’ eyes were still on him and all he could think of was grabbing him by a fistful of his coat and hauling him into a nearby alley, bending him over a crate and fucking him until he screamed.

“Everything alright, Hawke?” Varric’s voice seemed very far away as Hawke took a half step towards Anders, noticing the way the mage’s lips parted slightly, imagining biting that lower lip and making him yelp, stifling a groan into his mouth as he pinned him against the wall and…

***

“Hawke?”

That got his attention – Anders found he could breathe again, freed of Hawke’s intense gaze as Varric led him away to loot the bodies. For a moment there he’d thought it was really happening – if Hawke had seized him, claimed his lips, dragged him back to his estate in that moment Anders knew he couldn’t have refused, couldn’t have even thought of it. Hawke was streaked in blood, heavy armour coated in it, eyes wild and breath ragged and _Maker,_ how could Anders not want him?

“I’m going to head home,” he heard Hawke say as he straightened up, pocketing a handful of coins. “Here, Anders?”

Anders glanced over in time to see Hawke throw a purse towards him, and he caught it easily, feeling the heavy impact against his palm.

“Seem like a fair share?”

“I think I can trust you,” Anders grinned, stuffing the purse into his pocket. “I’ll just – get going, I’m opening the clinic early tomorrow and…”

“Come back with me,” Hawke said, and Anders’ breath caught. He felt Justice flare just below the surface, ready to object if Anders dared give in – but it was tempting to try, tempting to throw himself at Hawke and let himself be led back to the estate, pinned against the door with Hawke’s hands in his hair, holding him in place as Hawke’s tongue invaded his mouth and bloodied lips were crushed against his.

“I…”

“The tunnel,” Hawke said quickly. “Streets aren’t safe, you can head out through the basement – get you home quicker without running into more of these.” He nudged one of the corpses with his foot.

“Your face, Blondie,” Varric smirked as he passed.

“Offer goes for you too,” Hawke called after him.

“I’m good,” he said, patting his crossbow with a chuckle. “Wouldn’t want to make Bianca jealous.”

Anders let himself be led, following Hawke through the front door and glad of his bulky coat to hide how desperately hard he was – blood running hot after the fight, alone with Hawke in the darkened entrance hall, listening to the warrior’s rough breaths and smelling the sweat and blood from his skin. It would be so easy to give in – Anders knew Hawke would take the chance if it was offered – a touch, a word, and he could feel Hawke’s hands on him, tearing his clothes away as if they were made of paper and groaning against his lips as a hand reached down to wrap around his cock.

“Are you holding up alright?” Hawke asked as he unlocked the door to the basement, glancing at Anders’ face with his brow furrowed. “You’re…”

***

“…shaking. And glowing, a little.”

Anders looked down at his own hands with a frown, and the faint blue glow faded.

“Justice is – it’s hard to explain.” He smiled faintly and shook his head. “Supervising me.”

“He thinks we need a chaperone?” Hawke let the basement door fall open but he didn’t move aside – watching Anders’ face carefully. He didn’t want to push too hard but he needed to make sure Anders understood – he hadn’t given up, not quite.

“It’s just the fight,” Anders said quickly, effortlessly diverting the conversation the way he always did. Hawke felt a pang of guilt – was he making him uncomfortable? But the way Anders leaned towards him slightly as he passed, the way his eyes raked over Hawke’s body and lingered on his lips, told him that their mutual desire was still very much mutual. “He’ll make sure I get home safely – I know things are – well, it’s hard to be friends with someone you can’t talk to. But he tries. He looks out for me.”

“I know,” Hawke said, swallowing the words he wanted to say as he stepped back. _He helps you resist. He tells you this is a bad idea, but I don’t have a voice in my head to do that for me, and I wish you could ignore yours._

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” said Anders, pausing with his hand on the doorframe.

Hawke nodded, and watched Anders vanish into the dark before closing the door after him.

He was up the stairs in seconds, hands working at the buckles holding his armour in place before he reached his bedroom door, tearing off one gauntlet and loosening his armour just enough to slip one hand down inside his clothing the moment the door slammed shut behind him. Hawke turned to brace his hand against the solid wood, panting roughly as his fingers found his aching hardness and he stroked firmly, quickly, biting his lip as he imagined Anders on his knees with his lips wrapped around his cock. He imagined they were in the clinic, door wide open for anyone to see them, Anders’ coat open and tunic torn, eager moans muffled by the slide of Hawke’s length into his hot, wet mouth.

Hawke groaned, thighs shaking as his hand moved faster, picturing the drag of Anders’ lips around his cock, the way his cheeks would hollow as he sucked hard, reaching down to wrap his fingers around his own erection and stroke in time with Hawke’s steady thrusts, long, elegant fingers curled around his cock, pumping hard, whimpering eagerly and…

***

…Justice faded to the back of Anders’ mind, knowing what to expect, judgement trailing in his wake but knowing well enough not to try to advise against this. Anders could deny himself a lot but he was still a man – still mortal – still driven by flesh and desire and desperate, aching longing.

Anders shed his clothing quickly, practised fingers loosening buckles and ties, stumbling as he kicked off his boots and let his trousers and underclothes swiftly follow, tossing his coat over the back of a chair and dragging his tunic off over his head, knocking his hair tie loose. Anders was naked by the time he reached his bed, snatching a bottle of oil from the rickety table beside it and slicking two fingers to slide them into himself roughly, urgently, pressing his face against the pillow and panting harshly. In the dark he could pretend he’d never left the estate – that he’d let Hawke drag him upstairs and throw him onto his bed, ready and willing and painfully hard as Hawke braced over him and nipped at his shoulder.

He tried to pretend it was Hawke’s fingers pumping roughly into him and stretching him ready for his cock. The idea of being naked and vulnerable beneath him with Hawke still in his blood-splattered armour made it even better, imagining his rough growl as he added another finger. He was rushing and he knew it – burning around the intrusion but beyond caring, pleasure building fast and making him shudder with every thrust of his hand. Anders let his chest fall against the bed and reached his other hand between his legs to stroke his cock, imagining Hawke gripping his hip hard enough to bruise as he pulled him back to rock against his fingers.

“Is that what you want?” The voice in his mind he’d created so many times, Hawke’s deep chuckle as his fingers curled within him to make Anders squirm and gasp. “I want you stretched open for my cock, ready to take it rough and deep. I’m going to slide into you – let you feel every inch – then fuck you hard and make you beg for more.”

Anders shuddered, silently mouthing _yes_ against the pillow as he worked his fingers faster, back arched to present his ass, imagining Hawke’s approving smirk as he lined up his cock and dug his fingernails into Anders’ hip.

“I’ve wanted this so long,” Hawke’s voice whispered in his mind. “I want you, Anders – I want to see how you look with my cock pounding into you.”

Anders’ breath caught, he spread his legs wider and rocked forward under each thrust of his fingers, his eyes closing as he imagined Hawke’s cock nudging against his entrance, the bruising grip on his hip, the way Hawke would groan as he rocked forward, driving into Anders’ with his full force, the weight of him driving him down against the bed and…

***

In Hawke’s mind, Anders threw back his head and screamed. His loose blond hair hung around his flushed cheeks, and he drew his lip between his teeth as every thrust rocked his body between Hawke and the wall. His torn clothing framed his lean, pale body, the freckles and sparse hair Hawke had always imagined lit gold in the low candlelight, hands pinned above his head in Hawke’s grip. Hawke thought of how his other hand would hold his ass tight, fingers digging in hard enough to leave bruises, feeling the muscle clench under his grip as every thrust jolted Anders and dragged sharp, urgent whimpers from his throat.

Hawke tried to slow down, trailing his fingers from the base of his cock to the tip, but he couldn’t draw this out – he’d been teased enough, he let himself fall into his fantasy and forget that it was just him and his hand, that it was his own bedroom door he leaned against and not the wall of Anders’ clinic. He groaned Anders’ name, voice hoarse with need, meeting every stroke of his hand with a rough thrust of his hips as he imagined the loud slap of skin on skin as he drove into Anders’ body. He pictured his cock plunging into him, the way Anders’ cock would throb between their bodies, aching to be touched and leaving a trail of fluid across Anders’ skin. He’d deny him his touch for now – leaning in close to bite and suck at Anders’ arched throat, leaving dark bruises in a trail from his jaw to his collarbone, making him whimper and writhe and beg.

Hawke remembered the scent of elfroot that clung to Anders, imagined inhaling sharply against his skin, releasing his hands to rake his nails down his chest and pinch a nipple. Anders would arch in to the touch, keening desperately as Hawke tugged and teased and then bent to soothe with a gentle swipe of his tongue over the hardened peak. Hawke’s fist tightened around his cock, imagining the way Anders’ body would tighten, shudder, twitch in his grip as he finally slipped his hand between them to stroke him in time with his thrusts.

Heat and tension coiled at the base of Hawke’s spine, low in his belly and throbbing in his cock – he was poised on the edge, every stroke of his hand sending white-hot pleasure jolting up his spine and making his head swim. His pulse roared in his ears and his arm shook, tense muscles trembling as he thrust into his fist and groaned Anders’ name, imagining how it would feel to come with his cock sheathed within tight, slick heat, with his hand skimming over Anders’ ass…

***

… Hawke’s grip on his hip shifted in Anders’ imagination – fingers trailing over his ass, teasing, letting anticipation build before the first hard slap made his knees give out and leave him sprawled face down on the bed, with Hawke’s weight driving him into the mattress as he continued to slam into him roughly. Anders gasped, shuddering, his hand trapped between his body and the bed as he continued to stroke his cock, thrusting helplessly down against his palm and back against the unyielding fingers buried in his ass. His breathing was ragged, hanging right on the edge of breaking into moans as he quickened his pace. Anders writhed against the bed, imagining Hawke’s approving growl as he spanked him again, then gripped his ass and quickened his powerful thrusts.

“That’s it,” Hawke would snarl, fingernails biting into Anders’ skin. “I love how you take my cock.”

That was how he wanted it – sharp, rough thrusts with hands gripping his hips hard enough to bruise, wandering up his back to force his shoulders down, tangle in his hair and shove his face down against the pillow to muffle his gasps as Hawke fucked him hard. Anders felt a slight flutter of discomfort in the back of his mind and groaned in frustration – of course Justice didn’t understand, wouldn’t want to understand. He could get away with a little roughness in his fantasies, but if he pushed it too far Justice’s panic interfered.

Anders shifted position, turning onto his back and resuming the thrusts of his fingers, fucking himself on his hand as he stroked his cock and arched his back. He drew his thighs back, imagining Hawke’s fingers splayed across the backs of each leg forcing – _not literally forcing, Justice, pushing_ – them up, hooking Anders’ knees over his shoulders to drive into him hard. Anders shuddered and thrust into his hand, breath catching as he felt the beginning of his impending orgasm, electric bursts of pleasure flickering over his flesh as he tried to capture every last detail his imagination supplied. He remembered Hawke’s intense stare and imagined it pinned on him, imagined the rasp of Hawke’s breath as it had been after the fight, but in his mind he was in Hawke’s bed and those rough gasps were for him alone .

How would Hawke look during the last few desperate thrusts – how would he sound on the brink of his own climax? Anders imagined him biting his lip but – no – Hawke wouldn’t be afraid to let Anders hear him, his groans would be deep, desperate, _hungry_ as his grip tightened and he sped up, lip curling as his back arched and his fingers tightened on Anders’ thighs.

“Fuck, Anders…” he imagined the catch in Hawke’s voice – but he _wouldn’t_ acknowledge the tenderness in it, bit his lip hard to ground himself in the building rush of pleasure, he didn’t need anything more – “I… I…”

***

“… _Anders.”_

Hawke thought of Anders’ hips jerking against him, the mage’s back arched as he came hard and in reality Hawke quickly followed, gasping Anders’ name again and again as tension snapped, uncoiled, overwhelmed him with raw sensation. His mind went blank – blissfully empty for just a moment – and as the wave of pleasure receded he was hauled back to reality, opening his eyes to his dark bedroom, panting with his head resting against the door and his thighs shaking.

He couldn’t go on like this.

Hawke banged his forehead against the door with a groan. Three years of this was enough – three years of thinking of the same man every night, three years ignoring advances from others, shrugging off his friends’ concerns, coming home to fuck his hand and ache for what he could not have.

Anders had asked him to come to the clinic tomorrow, and Hawke was going to talk to him about this – whatever it was – between them. He was willing to risk whatever chaos Anders brought into his life, he understood now that this wasn’t an infatuation, wasn’t just about Anders’ body – although _Maker_ , he’d do almost anything to get to touch him – you didn’t spent three years pining for a man just because he was good looking. He was in love with him. The most complicated man he could have fallen for and here he was, willing to take on the world and potentially one very difficult, overprotective spirit for a chance to be with him. It was, Hawke supposed, the sort of decision that ran in his family. He didn’t know why he was even surprised.

And if Anders refused him – Hawke swallowed hard, lifting his hand from the door to rake his fingers through his hair as he straightened up. That had to be the end of it. No more of this – he’d waited three years, he’d find a way to get over it, to get over him. He wouldn’t indulge himself like this anymore, filling his mind with thoughts of what could not be. He couldn’t go on like this, he…”

***

“…can’t last, Anders I’m…”

The thought of Hawke’s voice cracking with need, losing control as his cock pulsed inside him, pushed Anders over the edge. He silently mouthed Hawke’s name, his breath coming in short, sharp gasps as he curled his fingers inside himself, stroked his cock and dragged every possible spark of pleasure out of his body. Tension drained from his body as his cock throbbed once more against his palm, and his mind began to clear, the haze of pleasure fading as his breath slowed and his pulse began to slow. He was left – as he always was – alone in the dark, the only company Justice’s hovering presence in his mind. He was spent – but not satisfied.

“It’s been three years, Justice,” he said. He sat up, hunting around for a rag. He felt none of the comfort he’d been chasing – wrinkling his nose as he cleaned himself up and then crawling back into bed with a sigh.

No response came from his mind – there was an easing of the tug he felt when Justice pulled himself deeper, a warmth as Justice curled around his thoughts – but if Justice had anything to say then Anders couldn’t feel it.

“I can’t…” his breath caught and he shook his head. “I can live with _wanting._ But I…” it was terrifying to say it aloud, and he knew he probably didn’t have to – knew Justice had probably known longer than he had. But he’d come too far to back down now – he would not run from this. “I love him.”

That got a response – a rough flare of worry, a rush of images, that made Anders cover his face with a groan. A doorway left unguarded, a perfect chance to run and never look back – and that night, with Karl’s lips on his neck, no regret at all as his robes were hitched up to his waist. It was not the first time or the last that a chance would pass him by, that he’d tell himself there were reasons why he didn’t go but the truth was there was only one. Stumbling out of the Harrowing chamber, heart pounding, tears on his cheeks – it had been too close – and Karl was waiting for him but he wasn’t smiling and somehow Anders _knew,_ without him saying a word, it was over. They couldn’t take his mind, not now, so they’d taken the only other thing he had.

“Justice, _stop._ ”

Blue light raced across his hands, just for a moment, and when it faded Anders’ mind was locked on one image, clearer than thought or memory, so vivid it was as if he was back there, hands bloodied and shaking, the knife falling to the ground as Karl’s body slumped against him.

“ _Stop!_ ”

Justice released him, and Anders clenched his hands in his hair and bit back a sob. He brushed away the hum of apology in his mind – unsure if he was angry with Justice or with himself for still wanting, even though he knew how it would end. He had not been born for love – one of the Maker’s rejected children, cursed and deadly, destroying everything he touched. The thought echoed in his mind – he could feel Justice feeling it, trying not to fear, knowing it could only hurt Anders further – they were both beings that should not be, and Anders wondered if perhaps the word _abomination_ was not strong enough.

He dropped his hands into his lap, opening his eyes to look around the darkened room. He took a shaky breath, and Justice knew what he was going to say before he said it but Anders knew some things had to be spoken – he could not bear the silence any longer.

“Hawke knows,” he said. “What I am – what I’m capable of. About you.” There was no venom in the words but Justice flinched all the same, and he wished he knew how to take back the hurt. “I know it’s selfish but – if he _chooses_ this…”

There was a pause, and Anders braced himself for more argument. He felt Justice stirring, uncomfortable and protective. He coiled through his thoughts, emotion bleeding through them both, and then an almost imperceptible loosening.

“Not tomorrow,” he said, and he wasn’t sure if it was his own decision or Justice’s, but he could accept it either way. “We need his help with this – this _tranquil solution._ ” He shuddered, bringing Hawke into a mage underground job was a huge step, but he needed someone by his side on this, someone he could trust absolutely, someone like Hawke. “When this is done – when he’s seen the risks, when he understands – if he’s still interested, I’m not saying no to him again.”

Anders curled up beneath the blanket, feeling Justice’s barely restrained unease lurking at the back of his mind as sleep claimed him. It was new territory for them both, a step he doubted Justice would ever approve of, but through it all he could feel Justice still cared for him. Their friendship had been broken down and twisted, it was a fragile, damaged thing, but it was still there in the silence between them and in the shifting patterns of shared thought. He could not bear to deny Anders this – pain for one of them could only ever hurt them both.

Tomorrow, then. He would show Hawke the ugliest side of his world, the desperate urgency of the cause and then – if Hawke was ready, if he was certain – he would deny him no longer.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[podfic] Three Years](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4644684) by [Kess](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kess/pseuds/Kess)




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